


The Curious Case of Romani Archaman

by PinkAfroPuffs



Series: Cowardly Kings, Forgotten Heroes [4]
Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: F/M, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Philosophy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkAfroPuffs/pseuds/PinkAfroPuffs
Summary: Mixed signals. Was this what they meant by mixed signals? Oh but they were friends. There was nothing to get all tied up about. She was leaning a bit too far in the wrong direction, was all.
Relationships: Romani Archaman/Fujimaru Ritsuka
Series: Cowardly Kings, Forgotten Heroes [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731757
Kudos: 20





	The Curious Case of Romani Archaman

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little late but happy Hannukah. Yesterday was the last night and that's when I finished so it still counts! Apologies that this update came so late, but I wish you all a happy new year and happy holidays!

Ifumi Rockwell was not a big fan of secrets. In her own home life, family secrets had been the main thing tearing it apart; someone’s uncle doing this, someone’s brother doing that. No one was allowed to know until a “proper” age- namely, old enough to eavesdrop- what things they should really be scared of and what they should not. It was very much because of this that Ifumi had her own ideas about trust, honesty, and secrets- and though she was in no way foolish enough to believe that _everything_ should be shared, one should at least allow a certain amount of vulnerability to be known.

It was because of this that she was becoming rather uncomfortable with Doctor Roman, who, despite agreeing that they were friends (or even “work friends”, as Ifumi thought to herself) was just as distant as he had been on the day they’d met. Sure, they had lunch together every day; though he _seemed_ talkative, and she even had a good time chatting with him, she noticed that when it came down to personal details, he was vague and often changed the subject. It hadn’t bothered her at first; there were tons of things that other people didn’t like talking about. But for Romani…it felt like this was _everything_.

“You don’t have a favorite food?” She’d asked once, resting her head on her arms, her gaze turned to him as she leaned on the table beside him.

“Not really, no,” he’d admitted, eyes drifting to the ceiling as he munched on one of her cinnamon rolls. “But if I had to say, maybe your sweets are best?”

She’d only frowned and waved him off. “I mean something other than that.” Then she pondered it a bit, deciding to ask, “Can I ask you another question, then?”

“Mmf,” he said, chewing so that both of his cheeks were full, a part of the roll stuck near the corner of his mouth.

“Do you think generational curses are real?” She said, and he violently choked on the bread.

“Y-You-“ he tried to say, reaching frantically for water. “Ifumi, that’s kind of-“

“What? It’s a good question!” She said, doubling down. “I know most people don’t know the term, but I think they do! The concept of a generational curse comes with or without the knowledge of what your forefathers did, and repeating their same mistakes anyway, regardless of what you do. I think it’s interesting and very real, despite being a bit scary!”

“….well, yes, but,” he leaned back in his chair. “Saying that almost negates personal choices, doesn’t it?”

“No, not necessarily,” she began, “I believe in free will and all, but I think the act of a generational curse plays on it. Someone’s hubris will always win out and lead them and their ability to reason astray.”

The strangest, most indescribable expression crossed his features, almost as though he was trying to figure out exactly how her brain worked. He’d have a tough time with that. Not even Ifumi was entirely sure. After a few seconds, he leaned forward, knitting his gloved fingers together in thought. “…but not everyone has that? Right?”

“Maybe,” she agreed with a shrug. “I know some people don’t have enough pride to think ‘it can’t be me’, but especially in individualistic societies like American society- mine, I mean- it’s entirely possible that it’s one of the reasons why it’s so common.”

“...I feel like I’m not ready to have this discussion.” Roman said suddenly, though his brows were knit in thought. “I’m going to need...like three hours and a bunch of academic sources I can come back to you with.”

Her eyebrows went up.

“What? What, why are you looking at me like that?” He said, suddenly startled enough to lean back, mouth curling a bit uncomfortably. Did he think he’d overstepped? Or simply that he wanted her to think that he was considerate enough to think he might have overstepped-

“…I was-” Curious? It seemed that he continued surprising her in his own Romani-esque ways and confusing her. Not that he wasn’t perfectly nice. Just-

_Just…_

“…just? Are you okay?” He leaned towards her- though only by a millimeter or so- raising his hand to wave in her vicinity to see if she was still mentally there.

“…uhm, yeah. I’m fine,” she mumbled, but her eyebrows pulled together and her forehead bunched despite herself. This was why she was getting wrinkles up there. “It’s nothing, that’s very mature of you.”

For some reason saying so made his cheeks darken- though only a bit- as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes darted away from her own. “Oh, you think so?"

Before she could open her mouth to ask him something else, DaVinci’s voice blared over the intercom. “ _Romani Archaman, you’re needed in the Command room, ASAP! Ifumi and Mash, you’re also needed up front. You’re going to want to see this. Oh, and don’t forget to suit up! Thank you!”_

“Looks like we’d better get going,” Romani sucked in a breath, grabbing his things and putting them in covered plates. “If you don’t have to rayshift today, we can still have lunch tomorrow, too, right?”

It felt sweet of him to ask. “Of course!” She exclaimed. “But I hope you’re ready for some hard questions then, too.”

He only laughed a bit nervously in response.

****

_“Do you know where we are now?”_

Roman checked the monitor three times before answering; it had been a very long day and night for all of them, but he expected that especially Ifumi and Mash were feeling the brunt of this new Singularity; first they’d ended up in the middle of the ocean, surrounded by pirates, and then they’d ended up on land…..also surrounded by pirates.

It had been a surprise to see that Francis Drake was a woman, but most surprising was her assessment of _him_ , which made him feel as though he should have held his tongue; he was always saying something he shouldn’t, and had been so shocked at her (correct) deduction of Chaldea’s meaning- stargazers- that he’d outright called her a drunk, and been full on roasted in front of her comrades _and_ his both. It still stuck him between his ribs better than any knife could, though he kept it to himself. Still, it bruised him enough to keep him on his toes, so he said, “The northeast part of the island. You aren’t far from the water, but there aren’t any enemies around this area. Pretty lucky there’s a leyline so we can check in.”

_“Good. No enemies…do you think it’s okay to sleep? Or at least go a little ways from the camp for a minute?”_

Again, he checked the maps, gloved hands passing over the instruments before he said, “Yep! Don’t stray too far.”

_“I’m not. I just wanted to talk to you without Mash around.”_

Involuntarily, his eyebrows rose. “Is something wrong?”

_“No. Well, yes. But no. I just wanted to talk to you without Mash around. I get that she’s a Demi-Servant, but she’s still a child. There are a lot of things I can’t say around her.”_

He nodded, despite knowing she couldn’t see him. “I see your point. Well, you’ve got all my attention now! And uhm, if it bothers you too much to be heard by the staff, “ he stretched and leaned back, swiveling his chair to see around the room, “most people are in bed right now. It’s just me and a few Servants running the command room while they rest up.”

“ _Shouldn’t you be resting?”_

The bags under his eyes ached a little as she asked, but he ignored it. “If I was, we wouldn’t be able to talk, now would we?” Came his response.

 _“If I can say so respectfully, Doctor Archaman,”_ Ifumi continued, “ _you’re a huge idiot, but I respect that about you.”_

He chuckled, raising his cup of coffee to his lips. “Thanks for that assessment. It does wonders for my self-esteem.”

The little snort in the background made him a bit relieved that she’d caught the joke, but then she began rather seriously, _“…well. I wanted to ask you…and it’s fine not to answer!”_ A pause. _“…but why do you let people talk to you that way?”_

He hoped she wasn’t talking about what he _thought_ she was talking about. Knowing her, she was, so he feigned ignorance by saying, “What way?”

_“Calling you a chicken and shallow. I respect Drake, but it made me want to…be less than polite.”_

What a way to put it. “Well, that’s sweet of you,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee as he checked his papers for the information he’d taken down on Okeanos, “but everyone is entitled to their own opinions.”

Static silence. Clearly he said something she didn’t like- he was reminded again why he didn’t like outright talking to people, even though he should, and he could, and he _had_ to, but he sucked in a breath and continued, “Sounds like it bothered you, though.”

 _“Yes.”_ The answer was sharp. _“A little ribbing is okay, but this happens with too many people we meet. They don’t even know you. Even Archer had something to say.”_

Romani blinked one time too many; he’d tried to forget about “Archer” and their meeting altogether, but it weighed on his mind most. He recognized this figure intimately- in fact, he looked a great deal like paintings he’d committed to memory, hung on walls emblazoned with tales of glory from the child warrior of God who was and would always be their greatest king-

“ _Roman?”_

“Hm?” He leaned over the control panel. “I heard you. It just….it just doesn’t bother me that much, you know?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re, uhm. Just words.”

Another bout of static. He wondered if he’d said the wrong thing again. Eventually, Ifumi’s voice came up on the speaker again: “ _I don’t think you should just accept the mean things people say about you. They all mean something.”_

Of course they did. They meant this was his fault, and he was willing to accept it, to shoulder that weight. But he didn’t say that. He couldn’t. There was no telling who might be listening. “I don’t really think this is the time to discuss this,” he ended up saying. “Maybe when you’re back in Chaldea, safe?”

Static. Funny, when she was around him in person, she never stopped talking, so when she did, the silence was felt. This time was no different. “ _If you just don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine,”_ she said finally, “ _but for what it’s worth, they’re wrong. You aren’t a coward, Romani,”_ Ifumi sighed _, “Or….maybe you are, but you’re the bravest coward I know.”_

For a moment all he could hear were the incessant beeps of the command room around him. After the moment (or several moments) passed, he found his throat had gone dry.

He didn’t know how to respond. Like. At all? She was talking about some other…Romani Archaman. Definitely, right? Because that didn’t make sense. Was she really looking at him when they talked, or an idealized version of him?

“Uhm…right,” he responded lamely, “thank you. I…sorry. You should probably get some rest right now. Long day ahead of you tomorrow, getting that Holy Grail. I’m going to turn my mic off for now, okay?”

_“Sure. Good night, Roman.”_

He opened his mouth to echo the sentiment but could not. Haphazardly, he slapped his hand on the mute button and pushed his bangs back with both hands, sighing so deeply he could blow a house down.

* * *

Hands.

They had gloves this time, reaching for him as though there was nothing else to hold onto. The fingers grasped skin, but only for a moment; voices echoing in the dark, immense heat, screams of how nothing, everything, _something_ happened in a moment, loud and in death’s throes before dying out unceremoniously.

Silence.

He stared at the ceiling in the dark, waiting, thinking to himself that in some way it might be calming if he waited long enough, before sitting up and groping around his nightstand for the light switch. For a few minutes, he waited there, sitting in twisted blankets and disoriented sheets before moving out of bed and into the bathroom to wash his face.

He tilted his head back for a moment. There were a thousand things to do, so it was always better to be awake and doing something than asleep. Even though DaVinci had sent him off to bed while taking on the responsibility proving Mash and Ifumi’s existences herself, he assumed she knew he didn’t sleep more than three hours, four at most. It was also why, when he came to the Command Room, he shook off the twinge of disappointment in her eyes.

“Oh, here he is. We were just talking about Solomon.” DaVinci began, a strange look in her eyes, and Roman, who’d just gotten his coffee, almost spit it all over the console.

He cleared his throat. Being a morning person hadn’t stopped him from thinking ‘it’s too early’ as soon as she’d said those words, so, very mildly, he said, “Right…what do we know now?” He wouldn’t ask Archer to say anything; he was sure that David had nothing to say about his son, as Roman knew for a fact that he didn’t know the first thing about him anyway.

 _“Well, I don’t think that was really Solomon. In fact, you know, I don’t know much about him- I was never one for child rearing, you know-“_ Roman closed his eyes and listened, calmly drinking his coffee, “- _but I can’t imagine him doing such a thing…unless, maybe all ten of his secret lovers betrayed him?”_

Involuntarily, Romani’s face scrunched.

 _“That’s somehow worse!”_ Cried Mash on the other end, and the sound of Ifumi’s chuckle overlaid the sound. Truthfully, it made him feel annoyed. Flustered? Embarrassed. For no reason.

 _It’s not like Solomon is me,_ his lip twitched, the very thought violently hammering in his mind. _That was a different person._ At this point, at least. “I didn’t know Solomon’s reputation was so bad in modern times,” he found himself sighing, one hand massaging the bridge of his nose.

 _“You seem to know a lot about Solomon, Doctor,”_ began Mash, which, to some effect, seized him with panic.

He could easily assuage this by saying it was because he was Jewish- he was, of course, but wouldn’t that become suspicious to some effect, as he’d never brought it up until now? Leonardo had been studying him rather carefully as of late. Though he didn’t think she was in league with that Other man- as Lev had been- he didn’t want to take any chances. Besides, she was too smart. They didn’t call her genius for nothing. Oddly enough, before he could say anything, DaVinci said, “Oh, that’s because the Doctor is a big fan of him! Aren’t you, Romani?”

Frozen, he stared at her a bit, somewhat stunned by the remark. As though getting his second wind, he stuttered, “Y-Yes, I am, but it was kind of a secret! Anyway,” he began, as he now had the space to say so, “I don’t think someone’s parent is too reliable a source.”

 _“Why not?”_ Mash, again. He had to be careful about this one.

“Well, in text, historically, King David had many sons and daughters,” Roman began, once more the historian. “Especially for royalty, it’s highly unlikely he paid attention to them all.” Or, in essence, he didn’t until it was too late.

_“You may be on to something there…what was your name? Romani.”_

He paused. It was strange hearing his name from That Archer’s mouth, and for a moment or two it stunned him. David continued, “ _While it’s true that I wasn’t the best father…Solomon and I weren’t all that different, personality-wise. I could say I knew him best…or least. Would it matter either way?”_ A chuckle. _“I do know that those are definitely his demons, though. Hmmm. Maybe someone else is running the show?”_

 _"But if this is a show of his power, how can it be?”_ Responded Ifumi, despite the twinge of disappointment in her voice. _“I’m not well read on the topic, but I did find something on his rings…maybe they match the demon pillars we’ve encountered so far.”_

 _"You’re a very smart young woman,”_ mused Archer, _“and beautiful to boot, like my third wife, Abigail! Are you single?”_

She laughed at that. Which made Roman cringe inwardly. _“Maybe we can discuss that some other time?”_

‘Some other time’. Hmph. “A-Anyway,” Roman cut in, “I think both points are worth noting for now…hopefully we can piece this together before he shows up again. For now, though, it seems you’ve retrieved the grail. I’ll prepare to bring you all back, if you’re ready.”

_“Are you sure you won’t put us in an ocean this time, Doctor?”_

Roman’s mouth screwed to one side as he fought between embarrassment and good-natured annoyance. “I’ll do you one better and drop you in the bath facilities. Alright? Just for you.”

_“You always know what to say.”_

He was practically vibrating under his skin. Maybe it was the coffee. “Alright, bringing you back in three, two….one!”

* * *

He was not in the Command Room when she returned, though she’d thought she’d heard a “good job” from him (which was strange, as she hadn’t seen him), so after a much-deserved rest, Ifumi found herself wandering the Chaldean halls looking for him, until she found Romani in the observatory.

His head was tilted upwards, towards the stars on the ceiling; though the overhead shutters were closed and the place was in absolute darkness, the superficial lenses cast just enough light to thread through his hair like starlight. He was holding something in his hands; as she inched closer to him, it was clear that a couple of books (three? four?) of varying thickness were resting on his knee, though he seemed to be thinking about something that wasn’t within them. Or so was her assumption. He looked far too lonely to be sad about….what was that tile? ‘A Guide to Curses’?

“Roman?” Her hand brushed against the doorway, suddenly self-conscious about entering. Maybe he wanted to be alone about something?

He turned back to look at her, hair brushing against his collar. “Oh, Ifumi!“ He began with a little smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “All rested up, I see.”

“Sort of,” she answered with a little smile. “Are you…” She considered her words, leaning against the door. “Busy?”

Recognition flickered in his eyes, his lips parting a bit before he shook his head. “No, no, I’m actually- Actually,” he laughed, though there was almost no humor in it, “I was sort of waiting for you.”

Waiting for her, huh? “You knew I’d come here?”

“No, no,” he rubbed his chin. “More like…I guessed you would.” Then he pointed to the right side of the room. “There’s a stack of books over there and nobody knows how they got there.”

“Oh.” She’d forgotten to clean up again. “My bad.”

A little nervous laugh followed it. “It’s not a big deal. Actually, I wanted to say something about that thing you asked the other day. I was uh, kind of disturbed by my findings.”

She racked her brain. “Which thing?”

A small smile, this one accompanied by him rubbing the back of his neck, somewhat apologetic. “The generational curse thing. I know it’s a little late, but I get it now. It’s obscure as far as topics go, but the things I did find…are kind of scary.”

Now _this_ was interesting. She walked around the chairs before sitting on the long bench Roman himself was sitting on- though some distance away, as she didn’t want to get too close, or cross any lines. “Really now? Like enough to debate me?”

“Well, there’s not much to debate,” he admitted with a little groan, “since it seems every culture has their own idea of a family curse or a generational curse. It’s almost like it’s an inescapable thing,” he said, though the last bit sounded a bit strained. “I concede, I guess.”

She wanted to seem happy about a “victory” to seem cute about it or even tease him, but he was clearly grieved by something. “Are you okay?”

A gloved hand- his left, rested on the bench next to him, fingers stretching and then making a loose fist. Silence. After a while, he said, “I don’t know.” And then, to clear it up, “I don’t have to know.”

Dissecting those words would take her days. Instead she said, “I’m sorry I asked it, then.”

“No, no, that’s….that’s not,” he was rubbing his neck again, though this time his head went with it, like he was trying to rub out its stiffness, “that’s not it. It’s…well, you know it-“ A pause. “…do you ever think that some things just can’t be changed?”

For a moment only her lips moved- though nothing came out- opening and closing slowly as she thought about it to herself, before she turned her head to look at him. “Like repeating mistakes?” Her fingers cradled one another; one by one they danced across her palms as she closed her eyes, thinking, humming, mulling it over, as she considered a great deal of things, including her own life and her own fears. “Yes. But I think, more than that, that nothing is impossible. Making informed decisions,” her hands still hurt from battle, knuckles still rubbed raw and bandaged by mistakes much bigger than disembodied hands, “that is, knowing where we come from, what our parents did, our grandparents, our ancestors, can help us avoid those mistakes. At least I like to think so.” She finished, though she was still looking at her hands.

A deep breath. It was too silent, she thought, so she went on, “I get scared of becoming my father every day. Sometimes my mother. But at the end of that day, I remember that I’m still me, and I have my own decisions. It’s when those decisions become acts of hubris that they become curses. ‘I can’t possibly become’ and ‘there is no way I could be like’. Like flying too close to the sun.”

He was still silent. Somewhat flustered, she reached up and pulled at the curls on the back of her neck- her kitchen- and cleared her throat. “I…that’s probably not what you meant-“ Experimentally, she looked up at him, but the sight made her freeze.

He was smiling at her. It was a strange smile, a soft kind of smile that felt sad underneath; a tired sort of smile that made Ifumi conscious of the bags under his eyes, the worry lines forming just around his mouth. But he seemed relieved. Warm, even. Maybe-

Her middle finger hit something. She didn’t dare look down. Maybe it was a book that felt too much like cloth over deft hands, or the nerve damage in her own fingers that made her think that she _should_ be too embarrassed to check. He did, though. And he jolted away immediately afterward, as though shocked. “Sorry.”

Was that…maybe he didn’t want to be so close? For some reason she felt disappointed. Her left hand fluffed at her now- picked out afro (after rayshifts it was a pain to keep it up in a bun, what with the dirt and grime and how tight she made it) as she looked away from him, hoping she didn’t look as upset as she felt.

“Thank you.”

Surprise! “Hm?”

“I-“ He began again, his face turned away from her. “Needed that. And I’m sorry for dumping it on you.”

Mixed signals. Was this what they meant by mixed signals? Oh but they _were_ friends. There was nothing to get all tied up about. She was leaning a bit too far in the wrong direction, was all. Before she could properly respond- ‘no you aren’t a bother’, ‘it wasn’t dumping’ and a possibly risky, ‘that’s what friends do’ were all wet on her tongue- he stood abruptly, gathering his books, and said, “Right, I have some work to do, so uh…I’ll see you later.”

“…bye…” She half-murmured, attempting to wave, before, with a definitive _slam_ , she was alone in the dark.


End file.
